A homeless person sleeps on the street beside a tree, using the pavement as a bed. His worn clothes and bare feet reflect a life of hardship, while a stray dog resting nearby adds a silent sense of companionship. The scene quietly reveals the struggle and solitude of urban street life.
A young boy naps peacefully on a brick bench beneath a large tree, his shoes placed neatly beside him, while a stray dog sleeps nearby. Amid the urban hum and passing strangers, this serene moment captures the quiet bond of rest, simplicity, and shared calm between human and animal.
If you’ve been cycling for a while and find yourself grinding the pedals in a big gear, pushing hard but feeling drained quickly, you’re not alone. Many beginners—and even some seasoned riders—mistakenly think that cycling harder automatically means cycling better.
But here’s the truth: that heavy, slow, muscle-crunching pedal stroke might look powerful, yet it could be holding you back. One of the most underrated skills in cycling is mastering cadence—the speed at which you turn the pedals.
Let’s take a deep dive into what cadence really is, why it matters, and how small tweaks can completely transform your riding experience.
Cadence is simply the number of times your pedals make a complete revolution per minute (RPM). Think of it like the rhythm of your ride.
A low cadence means you’re pushing harder on each pedal stroke, usually in a bigger gear (like driving a car in 2nd gear up a hill).
A high cadence means you’re spinning the pedals faster in an easier gear, distributing the work across more pedal strokes (like cruising in 5th gear on the highway).
🔑 Sweet Spot for Most Riders:
On flat terrain, the optimal cadence usually falls between 80–95 RPM. Professional cyclists often hover around this range, sometimes pushing well over 100 RPM during sprints or fast efforts.
💡 Note: There’s no one “perfect” cadence. Every cyclist’s body has a freely chosen cadence (FCC)—a natural rhythm where efficiency feels best. For most people, this is between 80–100 RPM.
Cadence is like shifting gears in a car. Sure, you can drive around in a low gear, revving the engine and working it hard, but you’ll waste energy and wear things out faster. Your legs are no different.
Here’s why working on cadence can be a total game-changer:
Less muscular fatigue → Each pedal stroke requires less brute force.
Better endurance → Your cardiovascular system (heart + lungs) carries more of the load instead of your leg muscles burning out.
Reduced knee strain → Low cadence grinding puts enormous stress on the joints. Spinning distributes the effort more evenly.
Improved efficiency → You’ll maintain steadier power over long rides.
More responsive → Higher cadence allows you to adapt quickly to speed changes, terrain shifts, or attacks in group rides.
Think of it this way: taking lots of smaller steps (high cadence) is usually easier than taking a few giant leaps (low cadence).
That doesn’t mean you should always spin like a washing machine. Sometimes, grinding at a lower cadence (60–70 RPM) is beneficial:
Climbing steep hills → A bigger gear with more force per stroke can keep momentum steady.
Strength training on the bike → Riding at low cadence mimics gym work for your legs.
Time trials or flat-out efforts → Some cyclists find they naturally perform better at slightly lower cadences, especially if they’re strong in the legs.
🚫 But beware of going below 60 RPM for long periods—it overloads your knees and can lead to injury.
Here’s where it gets interesting:
Studies show that higher cadence (90+ RPM) actually requires more oxygen and burns more energy than grinding at 60 RPM. Sounds counterproductive, right?
But here’s the trick: even though your cardiovascular system is working harder, your muscles last longer. Muscular fatigue is usually the limiting factor in cycling, not oxygen uptake.
Translation: spinning faster makes you tired in a different way—but one that’s easier to recover from and better for long-distance riding.
If you’re used to grinding, suddenly jumping to 90 RPM will feel chaotic, almost like your legs are running away from you. That’s normal. Cadence training is a skill, and like any skill, it takes practice.
Here’s a roadmap to help:
Shift down to a smaller gear.
Focus on smooth, circular pedal strokes, not just mashing down.
Relax your upper body—avoid bouncing or gripping the bars too tightly.
Spin-Ups: During your ride, spend 30–60 seconds pedalling at 100+ RPM. Rest. Repeat 3–5 times.
Cadence Ladders: Start at your normal cadence. Every 2 minutes, increase by 5 RPM until you hit 100+.
Practice maintaining 85–90 RPM on flat roads.
Gradually extend how long you can hold it without bouncing.
Use a bike computer or cadence sensor to track progress.
Your optimal cadence isn’t fixed—it depends on the road, your bike, and your goals. Here’s a breakdown:
Flat Roads: 85–95 RPM for smooth, efficient cruising.
Climbing: 70–85 RPM—slightly lower but still spinning, not grinding.
Sprinting: 100+ RPM—explosive, all-out effort.
Recovery Rides: Whatever feels natural, usually 80–90 RPM.
Bouncing in the Saddle
Usually from tension or lack of control.
Solution: Relax your core, focus on smooth pedal circles, not stomping.
Feeling Out of Breath
Higher cadence = more cardiovascular demand.
Solution: Build gradually. Let your lungs adapt over weeks.
Knee Discomfort
Happens when cadence is too low (grinding).
Solution: Shift down earlier and spin instead of forcing the gear.
Increasing your cadence isn’t about chasing one magic number—it’s about building flexibility and range. The goal is to develop the ability to spin at different cadences comfortably so you can adapt to any road or race situation.
Higher cadence = less strain on muscles, better endurance.
Lower cadence = strength training and short bursts of power.
Your natural “sweet spot” will emerge over time—but aim to expand it.
💬 Remember this: Cycling is about working smarter, not just harder. Learning to spin more efficiently can save your legs, improve your endurance, and make cycling feel smoother and more enjoyable.
And most importantly—only spin faster if you enjoy it. Cadence is personal. Experiment, explore, and find what makes your ride feel best. After all, cycling should always be fun.
It had been years since the FnF Riders of Chittagong rolled together in the early morning light, a pack of cyclists sharing roads, stories, laughter, and the kind of camaraderie that only miles and sweat can weave together. And today, after such a long pause, the wheels turned once again.
My morning began a little differently than most rides. Instead of the usual light, quick snack, I indulged myself. Four slices of medium pizza—gooey cheese stretching across bites, loaded with sausages and nuggets—followed by a warm cup of coffee stirred gently with honey. It wasn’t the textbook cyclist’s breakfast, but it was a reminder that today wasn’t just about performance; it was about being part of something I had once cherished deeply.
At around 6:10 am, I swung a leg over my bike and pushed off from Hamzarbagh, the cool air brushing against my face as the city slowly stretched awake. By the time I reached Red Chilli at 6:25 am, riders were already gathering, bikes leaning against walls, helmets clipped, shoes clicking against the pavement, and conversations flowing.
What struck me immediately was how much had changed, and yet how much was still the same. Some faces were familiar—etched in my memory from rides long ago—while others were completely new. There were fresh, eager riders whose jerseys still looked crisp, whose tires still carried the shine of recent purchase. And then, to everyone’s excitement, two female riders joined us today, a sign that the group was evolving and welcoming more diversity into its fold.
Before the ride could begin, the group gathered in a semi-circle. There was a long discussion about rules—safety first, respecting traffic, waiting for slower riders, and making sure no one was left behind. The presence of new riders meant patience, guidance, and responsibility were all the more important. As the group admin spoke, someone mentioned me. They reminded everyone that I wasn’t just another rider—I was the oldest FnF rider still present, part of the group since 2014. The younger riders looked at me with curiosity, some with respect, others with quiet amazement. I smiled, not out of pride, but out of gratitude. Time had passed, but I was still here, pedalling.
At 7:00 am sharp, the ride officially began.
We rolled out from Red Chilli, heading towards New Market, Kotowali, and then towards the New Bridge. The streets were alive with the usual Friday morning scenes—shops slowly opening shutters, rickshaw pullers stretching after long nights, and vendors arranging fresh fruits and vegetables. The buzz of life around us mixed with the rhythmic whirl of chains and the hum of tires on asphalt.
But just after Kotowali, the sky shifted. Dark clouds gathered as if to test us. Within minutes, rain poured down, heavy and unforgiving. For ten, maybe fifteen minutes, we were drenched—water splashing up from the road, droplets streaming down helmets and glasses. Some riders pulled over briefly, but most of us pushed on, wheels slicing through puddles. My jersey clung to me, and the air turned cool against my skin. And strangely enough, I felt alive. It wasn’t discomfort—it was a reminder that rides like these are raw, unpredictable, and real.
When the rain finally stopped, the world looked freshly washed. Trees glistened, roads shimmered, and the air smelled of wet earth. But the roads were slick, and safety mattered. The group naturally slowed to a very moderate pace—10 to 12 km/hr—keeping close, moving carefully. This slow roll wasn’t about endurance or speed; it was about togetherness. Riders chatted side by side, laughter echoing off the walls of narrow streets, newcomers asking about old rides and veterans sharing stories.
By the time we crossed New Bridge (Karnaphuli Bridge), the group’s energy needed a small boost. We pulled over at Moizzarteck for breakfast. Plates of parathas, eggs, and tea were ordered, but my morning had already been heavy with pizza and coffee. I kept it light—a single large banana and a small 125ml pack of litchi juice. Sometimes simplicity tastes better than a feast, especially when the road is calling.
The breakfast stop was more than food. It was laughter, teasing, sharing stories of old crashes, near misses, and impossible climbs. It was the sound of 30-odd riders bonded by two wheels, living in the moment.
From there, we continued at a steadier clip, picking up speed to around 15–20 km/hr. The air had warmed, the wet patches drying up, and our legs loosened into rhythm. Instead of the main gate, which often stays closed, we took a shortcut into KEPZ.
Inside, the mood shifted to exploration. The roads inside were smoother, quieter, lined with greenery. We took photos—lots of them. Bikes leaned against trees, riders posed together, some raising helmets in the air like trophies. I was asked many times about my history with the group. “You’ve been here since 2014?” one rider asked with wide eyes. “That’s over a decade.” The admin chuckled, adding, “He’s our living archive. He remembers the rides we don’t.”
We sat, relaxed, and let the morning drift by until around 9:50 am. For a moment, it felt like no time had passed at all—that the group was still in its golden years, and we were simply continuing what had never ended.
By 10:00 am, it was time to head back. We regrouped, clipped in, and followed the lead rider until we crossed New Bridge again. After that, the pack slowly dissolved into smaller streams—each rider heading towards their own home, their own Friday responsibilities.
For me, Hamzarbagh was calling. And since it was Friday, I had no time to dawdle. I shifted gears in my head, tightened my grip, and began pushing harder. The pace picked up to 25–30 km/hr on average, my legs spinning steady and strong, the city blurring past me. It was a personal time trial to close the day.
At exactly 11:05 am, I rolled into home, sweat cooling on my skin, lungs full of air, heart full of satisfaction.
The ride, for me, measured a total of 42.53 km. But numbers only told a fraction of the story.
Today wasn’t about speed, calories, or PRs on Strava. It was about reunion. About remembering that the spirit of cycling isn’t just in watts or cadence—it’s in community, laughter, and rain-soaked jerseys. It’s in being called “the oldest rider” and feeling proud that I’ve still got the legs to keep up.
The FnF Riders had returned, even if just for today. And as I sat at home later, sipping another quiet cup of coffee, I knew that years from now, I would remember not the pizza, nor the rain, nor the exact route—but the feeling of belonging once again to something bigger than myself, something that had begun in 2014 and still rolled forward with every spin of the wheels.
WORK IN PROGRESS FOR THE: Model: VERTO -HYDRATOR (16 – Tray System) Model: No: VERT – 0125D Serial No: 1000001JVD
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